


'Twould Be a Wildish Destiny

by Thistlerose



Series: 'Twould Be a Wildish Destiny [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is given a glimpse of the life he might have led, and realizes that he and his alternate self share the conviction that they'll die alone.  Bones has something to say about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twould Be a Wildish Destiny

Jim seemed subdued when the Metrons finally teleported him back to the bridge of the _Enterprise_ , but since McCoy didn't detect so much as a bruise with his medical tricorder, he decided not to worry too much.

"Just report to sickbay when you come off duty," he said. "Sooner, if you start to feel the slightest bit off. And you know what I mean by 'off': don't wait until your ears are bleeding. You seem fine, but I'd like to run a full scan, just to be safe."

"Sure," Jim said absently as he flopped into the captain's chair, and _that_ should have been a red flag right there; Jim only came to sickbay willingly for two reasons: to visit an ill or injured crewmember, or to make out with McCoy in his office. But because Jim _looked_ just fine – not even a shade paler or a hair out of place – McCoy ignored the warning sign.

"See you in a few hours," he said, starting for the turbolift. He turned back to waggle a finger and mutter darkly, "If not sooner."

"Sure," Jim said again without turning.

McCoy shot a glance at Spock, who nodded slightly. Over the past four years, they'd had some truly volcanic arguments, but on the subject of the captain's health and wellbeing, they were generally in accord with each other. Mollified, if not entirely satisfied, McCoy left the bridge.

*

He spent the next few hours in his office, getting up-to-date on paperwork. It actually took the remainder of his shift, since he had the worst time concentrating on anything.

 _Stupid_ , he thought at one point, as he realized he'd been staring at the same line on his PADD for five minutes without comprehension.

Stupid. Jim was fine. The Metrons returned him without a scratch or a dent and went on their way.

Stupid. But he continued to be distracted. Even Chapel noticed when she came in to let him know that Ensign Teeloc from Engineering had been by with a minor burn, which she'd treated herself.

"Otherwise, it's been quiet," she said, leaning against his desk. "In fact, I was going to step out and get some coffee. I'd offer to bring you some, but…" She looked pointedly at the fingers of his right hand, which, he suddenly became aware, were drumming his armrest. She cocked an eyebrow. When exactly had she started copying his facial expressions? "Something bothering you, Doctor?"

"No," he said with a scowl.

She pursed her lips tightly. Did he do that too, or was _that_ completely hers?

"No," he said again, "everything's fine." And everything was. The Metrons had returned Jim unharmed, and vanished without even a warp signature to mark their passage. There'd been no need to mount a rescue. No one, not even Spock, had gotten to show off, so he wasn't being a jealous boyfriend, which was beneath him anyway. He preferred to think.

"All right," Chapel said, pushing away from the desk and walking toward the door. "So, no coffee?"

"No."

"Fine," she barked right back. Then she laughed. Impossible, essential woman.

McCoy turned back to his PADD and stared at lines and columns of data that made no sense to him whatsoever. After a few minutes, he pushed the damn thing away and, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, massaged his temples. Maybe he was coming down with something. No, he knew for a fact that he was perfectly healthy. And he felt fine. Except for the pounding of his heart and that chilly _thing_ that twisted and curled in his stomach.

McCoy glanced at the timepiece on the wall. Jim's shift ended in twenty-two minutes.

Jim was _fine_. The Metrons had taken him and—

McCoy slammed back in his chair. "Jim," he said roughly over the comm. He didn't wait for an acknowledgement. "Your quarters. Five minutes. McCoy out."

He was on his feet so quickly that he crashed his hip into the corner of the desk. Cursing, he stumbled out of sickbay, nearly bowling over Chapel in his haste.

*

Jim met him outside his quarters, a quizzical look on his face. "I _was_ going to come down to sickbay. Everyone on the bridge thinks I'm about to get laid, I'll have you know. They'd better be right. Why are you limping?"

"Shut up."

McCoy palmed the door open, then grabbed Jim by the shoulder and all but shoved him inside. As soon as the door was closed, he pushed Jim against it and mashed their mouths together. Jim made a small, choked sound of surprise, but he sure as hell didn't resist. Jim's instinct, upon being kissed, had always been to kiss back and save his questions for later. That he did, opening his mouth for McCoy's probing tongue, spreading his legs so McCoy could get a thigh between them.

Pinning Jim's shoulders to the door, holding him there, McCoy kissed him until his own dick began to twitch and Jim started to make deep, needy sounds with his throat. _Then_ McCoy pulled back.

Jim gazed at him. Uniform askew, lips swollen, eyes wide and intensely blue, he was fucking gorgeous. "Um," he said, blinking slowly. "Hi."

"Damn it, Jim—"

"What? Bones, _what_?" His voice was rough, low-pitched. _Concerned_. He obviously thought McCoy was crazy. He didn't seem too put off by it, though.

"Damn it, Jim."

"I think we've established that. Bones? Are you shaking?"

He was. He must have been for a while, but until now he'd been too intent on kissing Jim senseless to notice.

" _Bones_."

"Shut up." McCoy dragged his tongue across Jim's lips, sealing them.

Of course, his eyes were every bit as expressive as his mouth. More so sometimes, since they were never full of bullshit. _Seriously, Bones,_ they were saying now, while Jim just breathed heavily through his nostrils and hung there in McCoy's grasp, _what the fuck?_

"They _took_ you." Did his voice have to sound so ragged? Where was his composure, his dignity? He gripped Jim's shoulders to steady himself, and didn't even realize how deeply he was digging with his fingers until Jim winced. "Sorry." He relaxed his grip slightly. "It's just – they took you. They showed up out of nowhere and they snatched you right off the bridge."

"They sent me back," Jim said quietly, a touch uncertainly. "They sent me back, Bones. It's okay."

"It's not okay." McCoy shook his head. "Do you understand why it's not okay?"

"Not… really. I've been taken prisoner before, you know. Plenty of times. I haven't always come back in one piece." He was clearly trying for affability, and it wasn't helping in the slightest because McCoy had far too clear a memory of all the times Jim came back to him in pieces. That must have been apparent in his expression because Jim flushed and said, "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to joke. It's just – I'm here. I'm _fine_."

"Are you? Really, Jim?" He couldn't help but recall his dull expression, his all-too-easy acquiescence to McCoy's demand that he stop by sickbay after his shift.

"I'm fine," Jim insisted.

He was smiling sort of limply, but McCoy could tell he was lying, just from looking in his eyes. Instead of arguing, though, McCoy bent to kiss him again. He was gentle this time, just ghosting his lips over Jim's face, tasting his skin and the warm breath that hitched in and out of his half-parted lips. With the tip of his tongue he traced the shallow, centimeter-long scar that ran parallel to his jaw line.

"Bones," Jim groaned as McCoy bit his earlobe, then kissed his way down to the pulse at his throat. His shaky chuckle stirred McCoy's hair as he sucked on his neck. "Fuck, this had better be a lead into me getting laid. This is nice, but… damn." He pushed forward with his hips and McCoy felt his erection through the layers of their uniforms. "You better have a plan for dealing with this."

Lips still latched to Jim's neck, McCoy let go of his shoulders. He caught the hem of the gold tunic and black undershirt, pushed them up to his armpits. Fingers splayed, he stroked Jim's chest, occasionally flicking his nails against the hardening nipples, eliciting shaky gasps.

"I _mean_ it, Bones." Free to roam, Jim's hands weren't idle. They worked their way into McCoy's pants, into his underwear. Long, knowing fingers traced the curve of his ass.

Something hard and bitter filled McCoy's throat then. He tried to swallow it, but it remained lodged. All he could do was say around it, "They took you from me. Just like that. Without effort. One second you were there in front of me, and the next you were gone. I couldn't do a damn thing. I fucking _hate_ that. If they'd just beamed aboard, or if they'd overpowered us with phasers… I'd hate that too, but I get it. I get beaming. I don't like it, but I get it. I can _explain_ it. I can work with it. But this… I swear, I'd kill anything that hurt you, but I don't know what to do against something with that kind of power."

"They didn't hurt me. You scanned me yourself. You saw. D'you see anything wrong with me now?"

"What did they do, Jim?"

"Nothing. For fuck's sake, Bones. They didn't do anything."

"Liar."

"They showed me something. All right? That's all."

McCoy raised his head.

"Hey," Jim said, removing his hands from his pants and touching his cheek. A fractured light shone in his eyes.

"What did they show you? Don't even try telling me they just wanted to share some dopey home videos."

Jim's lips pulled back slightly, but he didn't smile. "I'll tell you after you fuck me. How's that?"

 _That_ was not at all what McCoy had in mind, but Jim was touching his face, tracing planes and angles, while his other hand dropped to his hip. He jerked their bodies together and started to rotate his pelvis. The friction was incredible, and suddenly McCoy didn't care. Jim was here, he was fine physically, and all McCoy wanted was to be with him, inside him. He wanted to feel that tight, splendid ass clench around his dick, wanted to hear those amazing, full-throated moans. For the past two years, these lips, those moans, that tight heat, had been McCoy's exclusively, and the knowledge gave him a possessive thrill that he was not at all ashamed to acknowledge.

"I know what you're thinking." Jim's whisper was harsh against his ear. "Do it. Stop fucking teasing and do it. Fuck me, ride me—"

He'd probably have gone on, but McCoy caught his mouth. He pushed his tongue between the perfect teeth and explored greedily while his hands fumbled with the hooks and zipper of his pants. He got them down over Jim's hips, then pulled back so abruptly that their mouths separated with a small wet pop. Jim was looking at him with glazed eyes.

"Get the rest off yourself," McCoy said. "And get into bed."

Once again, he should probably have been troubled by Jim's laconic compliance; even when he was taking it up the ass – or about to – Jim maintained an air of authority. He liked to give orders, to negotiate the terms of their fucking. It was an almost inescapable part of their foreplay. The only time McCoy truly dominated, or felt like he did, was when Jim was flat on his back in a sickbay bed.

But McCoy was too busy getting his own clothes off to be overly concerned. And then he was too busy slicking himself up with the lubricant Jim kept in his nightstand drawer. Then he was sliding onto the bed, between Jim's spread legs, curling over him. On some level he was aware that Jim should be giving commands. "Tell me what you want."

"I did."

"Tell me again." It came out as a growl.

"Fuck me," Jim hissed.

McCoy kissed him. He started gently, using only his tongue and fingers. When Jim began to swear at him, to thrust into his mouth and push against his fingers – then McCoy got a little rough. His first thrust was unintentionally hard, but Jim just groaned " _Yes_ , it's about fucking time," and dug his heels into the muscles of McCoy's back. So he pulled back and thrust in again, harder. That earned him a shout that was half-pain, half-exultation. When McCoy hesitated, Jim grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down so their mouths met and his erection was trapped between their bellies. His tongue curled against McCoy's, and then they both lost control. McCoy's thrusts became shallow, frantic, and Jim's nails raked across his skin, raising welts. Jim came first and that was enough for McCoy; he always went where Jim led: out of orbit, across the stars, over the edge.

*

Amid the aftershocks, before he came back to earth, McCoy had an epiphany. But Jim recovered first and started to talk, and, for a little while anyway, McCoy forgot what he'd intended to say.

His head tilted back against the pillows, his fingers tracing idle circles in the drying sweat on McCoy's neck and shoulders, he said, "The Metrons are of the opinion that they're vastly superior to humans. And in some ways, they are. They're highly intelligent and mostly non-violent. Though I got the distinct impression they're fully capable of making bad things happen to people they don't like."

McCoy harrumphed against Jim's chest. "Sound like Vulcans to me."

"They're not. They don't care about logic. They like to observe things, and they like to judge. Comes with being superior, I guess."

"So, how'd they judge us? Or you? Hope you represented us well."

"I hope I did too. They wouldn't give me any kind of definitive answer, but I prefer to think – since we're all still alive – that they didn't find us worthless as a species. Anyway, we talked about different… scenarios. How I'd react, what I'd order my crew to do. To be honest, it was a bit like taking the aptitude exams again, only the stakes were a lot higher." His chest rose and fell slowly under McCoy's cheek and his fingers settled between his shoulder blades.

"You said they showed you something. What did they show you?"

"Oh," said Jim, "to prove their superiority, like they _needed_ to after whisking me away, they showed me how they thought. I guess… in a way, it was like a mind meld, but not… quite. I couldn't see their thoughts, and I don't know if they could see mine. It only lasted a few minutes, but in that time, I was able to _think_ the way they did."

He fell silent. McCoy reached up and laid a protective palm against his cheek. He felt the tension in Jim's jaw and was instantly angry with the universe at large. It was too big and there were too many goddamn things out there that thought they could just force their way into a person's mind. Into _Jim's_ mind. Vulcans, Metrons, McCoy hated them all. At least until Jim began stroking his back again and murmured, "Hey," into his hair. "God, Bones. I'm not the slightest bit empathic, and I can feel the anger wafting off you. It's _okay_."

"What did they show you? I mean, what were you able to see?"

"Everything," Jim said softly. "You know how they say that when you're about to die, your entire life flashes before your eyes? It was like that, but it wasn't a flash. It was like… suddenly I remembered everything about my life, all the shit I'd forgotten or didn't even realize had happened because I was too fucking drunk. It was like… I don't know, being in an attic full of my junk, and someone just switched on this blazing light. I could see in all the corners. It's going dim now, like a dream. But I remember how it felt, seeing everything. And not just the things that actually happened. I saw all the things that could've happened if I'd chosen just a little bit differently. I saw how I could've become that other Kirk, the one old Spock knew in that other timeline. I actually saw him, or the choices and circumstances that made him _him_. Does that make any sense, Bones? I saw the choices he made, I saw the way he thought, and…"

"And what?" McCoy lifted his head and looked down at Jim. His skin was pale, his eyes almost preternaturally blue. "And what?" he demanded, half on top of him, hands framing his beautiful, haunted face.

"And we were different in some ways. And alike in others. He had a Bones too, you know. And he loved him, but not the way I love you. Anyway…"

McCoy was bent so close that they were almost trading breaths. "Anyway," Jim said again, "I knew from my mind meld with old Spock that the other Kirk died alone. When the Metrons helped me see him, I realized… he'd always known he would. And I…"

"What?" McCoy prompted when he trailed off again. His own heart was breaking while, beneath him, Jim's shivered like a trapped bird. "You think you're going to die alone, too?"

Very quietly, he replied, "I always used to think I would. It was so strange, realizing he thought he would too."

"Well, you're not." The words snapped out of McCoy. Jim actually flinched.

"No?"

" _No_." And suddenly he remembered his epiphany and his heart clanged like a bell against his ribcage. "No, you are _not_. I don't give a good goddamn what the other Kirk did, or what happened to him. I don't care how similar you are. You're not him. You're not dying alone. You're not _dying_ , for fuck's sake. Not anytime soon. Not while I'm around. And I intend to be around. With you. For as long as we _both_ live. So… so there."

Jim laughed. The idiot actually _laughed_ , albeit without humor.

"I mean it," McCoy went on, irritated and frightened. For the first time, he understood why people described themselves as madly in love. Good God, was he in love. And mad. In every sense of the word. How could Jim laugh? "I'd've found you," he said savagely. "If the Metrons hadn't sent you back, I'd've found you somehow. I don't care about their superior brains or the fact that they didn't even leave a warp signature. I don't know how I'd've done it, but I would've. I'd've come to get you, and I'd've…"

He couldn't go on. The rage had left him. He shivered in its absence, cold and tired, and _why_ was Jim still laughing? It took McCoy a moment to understand that Jim's laughter had lost its hysterical edge. It was warm and soothing, as were the hands that drifted up McCoy's sides to rest against his biceps.

"Damn it, Jim—"

The laughter stopped. Jim cocked an eyebrow. "'For as long as we both live'? Stick a 'shall' in there. I'm up for it. If you're serious."

McCoy stared. "Serious about what?"

"That wasn't a proposal? Never mind, I know you were serious. You always are. Too serious. It's all right. I love you anyway, and the answer's yes."

McCoy regarded him warily. Somehow, he'd flipped a switch. He wasn't quite sure what it did, so he proceeded with caution. "Yes to what exactly?" He had an idea, but…

"Too serious _and_ a little slow on the uptake. You said you intend to be around forever. I'll stick around too, if you're there. We're good together. We're _great_ in bed. Why not get married?"

Once again, McCoy's heart swung like a bell. _Oh,_ he thought dumbly. Then, a little wildly, _Oh._

Jim started to kiss him, tentatively at first, then with enthusiasm as McCoy responded. "Well?" The question was a puff of air against his lips.

"I'm not too serious," McCoy said. "And I'm not slow on the uptake. You're just insane is all."

"I know. You're a brilliant doctor. Well? Care to change my destiny?"

Well, indeed. "Yes, you idiot. Of _course_."

"Wow." Jim sounded genuinely awed. "You didn't have to think about that at all." He caught one of McCoy's hands and threaded their fingers.

 _Good God,_ thought McCoy, and waited for the panic. It didn't come. He waited a little longer, and Jim watched him with growing amusement, but all he felt was a drowsy pleasure. A marriage certificate wouldn't keep Jim from harm, he knew. If such things had any sway with creatures like the Metrons, he would be deeply astonished. But this wasn't about them, or anything else that might try to come between him and Jim. He brought Jim's hand to his lips and kissed the callused fingertips.

"Not panicking yet?" Jim asked teasingly.

"Nope, not yet."

"It'll come."

"Ye of little faith."

"On the contrary, Bones. I trust you to panic and get over it. Despite what I said before, you're too smart to let me get away from you."

"Kid," laughed McCoy, "you'll be the death of me, I swear."

"Nah. I'll keep you young. And you'll…" His eyes clouded.

"I won't let you get away from me," McCoy promised. "Won't let myself lose you." He gave panic one last chance. _Fuck it,_ he thought, after only a second or two. It knew where he lived; it would find him if it wanted him. He'd be ready for it. Just now he had more important things to deal with.

Before, he'd given Jim what he demanded. This time, with sure, steady hands and lips, he gave him what he needed.

09/11/09


End file.
